


On Little Cat Feet

by SocialMoth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Getting Together, I play with headcanons, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e11 First Born, Sastiel - Freeform, Sharing a Bed, Sort of? - Freeform, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialMoth/pseuds/SocialMoth
Summary: "You are tired. You need sleep, Sam," the angel insisted again."I'm fine, Cas." Sam yawned again. Castiel stepped into the room. Sam tracked his movement out the corner of his eye, choosing to gently ignore him.At his side, Cas placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, firm but kind. "Rest," he intoned, squeezing emphatically, his concern resonating in the air. Sam looked up, tired hazel eyes meeting compassionate blue. A cluster of words hung between them, lingering heavy from the afternoon.  Nothing is worth losing you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyyy look what I found buried in my flashdrive!
> 
> \--
> 
> April 2015
> 
> Confession: I've shipped Sassy for _years._
> 
> And then "Firstborn" happened and MY FEELINGS WITH THE HUGGING AT LAST AKFSDF.
> 
> And then canonically Sam doesn't seem bothered by getting paired with Cas – he's actually more confused that people don't ship him with Cas like they ship "Deestiel."
> 
> And then "Inside Man" happened.
> 
> My Sassy Feels hit a peak and they kinda stayed there, insisting I do something about them.
> 
> Result: This.
> 
> This may or may not have been inspired by the time when BGF and I did a similar thing in college... That was seriously as wild as I ever got. But I'm an exciting person in real life, I promise. ;_;
> 
> A thing:
> 
> I wrote this having forgotten the exact order of events in S9, so Dean is milling about in the bunker when he shouldn't be, etc., and other details are sure to be wrong, and I decided I couldn't be bothered to double-check and fix stuff. Just ignore all that. Enjoy the Sassy. That's what we're here for.
> 
> Another thing:
> 
> First time writing these characters all interacting with each other, basically. I think they feel like themselves, but as always all y'all will be the judge of how I did. Adequately, I hope?
> 
> Enough jabber, I'll leave you now to the reading and potential feels.

Cas liked the bunker – truly he did. Though he did not hold his true Grace, he nonetheless felt the power of the centuries' worth of collected knowledge thrumming the air around him as he padded barefoot through the archives like he often did. Here, he could linger for hours and feel relaxed, and safe; he could pretend Heaven did not have a price on his head. Here, they were protected against everything they did not let in the front door themselves...

Dean let Gadreel in, though, carried inside Sam's body. A twinge of regret pinched in Cas's mind – that he couldn't sense Gadreel's presence and expose his deception; that he could not protect Kevin Tran. Sorrow for Dean's guilt and Sam's anguish decimated the comfort he had scrounged up on this late-night wandering through the chilled hallways. Anger permeated the bunker lately; during the activity of daytime hours Cas could ignore it, but at hours like this, it made the air seem even colder.

Dean blamed himself for Kevin's death. Sam blamed him, too; and hated Dean for tricking him into the deal with Gadreel in the first place, keeping him ignorant of the whole affair. And, Cas knew, Sam hated himself more than he ever had, for what he ultimately allowed the rogue angel to do with his body. In his words, he was still just a vessel for destruction in the end – if it was not Lucifer, it was another fallen angel of a sort – and his conscience took the collateral damage...

Sam couldn't have done anything, Cas also knew. In the dark, weakened by the Trials, Sam could never have regained control and expelled Gadreel from his body; and truth be known, he may not have survived if he had.

Perhaps letting his thoughts linger on the younger Winchester drove the movement of his feet, but Cas found himself at the entry to Sam's room, the door slightly cracked. The slice of yellow-orange light indicated Sam had settled, but not gone to bed yet. Pushing the door further open revealed Sam leaned over his desk, reading by the incandescent lamp mounted on his desk. One arm nestled around the book in front of him, the opposite hand pushed into his hair, supporting his forehead. Tension ran in the high pull of his shoulders, his shirt bunched in creases around his neck. His eyes, hooded with exhaustion, roved over the pages still; he had not noticed Castiel's entrance.

"Sam, you should rest." The man startled and the hand in his hair whipped toward a side drawer that Cas knew held a loaded pistol. His brain caught up to recognizing Cas's voice as his fingers brushed the knob, and Sam's shoulders dropped, forearm sagging limp against the armrest. His face dropped out of surprise into weary patience.

"Knock, Cas," he kindly reminded the angel, voice lacking the prickliness Castiel had come to expect from Dean; Sam often had a softer quality to his corrections. Cas drew his eyes away, casting them around the room though he had already memorized every detail.

"I'm sorry. I'm still used to finding you in motel rooms." Fewer doors meant fewer reasons to remind the angel about privacy and personal space. Sam's lip twitched upward in – amusement? nostalgia? – before he turned aside to yawn. Cas had removed the last remnants of Gadreel's Grace and healed Sam only hours ago. The ordeal had drained both of them.

"You are tired. You need sleep, Sam," the angel insisted again.

"I'm fine, Cas." Sam yawned again. Castiel stepped into the room. Sam tracked his movement out the corner of his eye, choosing to gently ignore him.

At his side, Cas placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, firm but kind. "Rest," he intoned, squeezing emphatically, his concern resonating in the air. Sam looked up, tired hazel eyes meeting compassionate blue. A cluster of words hung between them, lingering heavy from the afternoon.

_Nothing is worth losing you_ .

Not closing the gates of Hell, nor the ruin the Trials made of his body; not the search for Gadreel; and definitely not to Sam's own self-negligence to assuage his guilt.

Sighing in defeat, Sam nodded. "Okay." And he rose, unfolding his long body from his desk chair and fumbling to the bed. Cas caught his arm, steadying him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. Head rush." He knelt safely onto the mattress before flopping down face-first in a manner like a child, bouncing a little on impact, before rolling over with another sigh, folding his hands atop his chest. His eyes fluttered closed. Then he opened them again to find Castiel watching him. "Do you need something?"

Cas looked bewildered that Sam had to ask. "I am making sure you're safe. Though I've healed you, I'm still concerned for you. Is that not something humans do?" he asked when Sam smiled bemusedly.

Sam chuckled. "Not typically. Not like you are." Face sobering, he considered the angel. No one had waited up for him while he was sick since... Well, probably when Dean stuck him in an ice bath during the Trials. Figuring it couldn't harm anything to have the angel in the room, he waved an arm at his desk. "Pull up a chair. You may as well sit."

Castiel sat on the edge of the mattress, instead. Sam huffed and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He did not mind Cas's company, and he really was two seconds from falling asleep, anyway. "I can stay?" Cas confirmed, searching Sam's face.

Closing his eyes again, Sam nodded. "I won't be very entertaining, though."

"That is no consequence. I... want to stay here."

Sam didn't feel like opening his eyes to scrutinize the angel on that one. He merely allowed a fractional smile. He soon fell asleep – on top of the covers, with the angel Castiel holding vigil at his side.

–

When Sam roused late the next morning, a comfortable warmth pressed against his back. Rolling forward onto his belly, Sam peeked back through his sleep-tousled hair to see the bunched shoulder of a tan trenchcoat, and a mess of black hair barely sharing his pillow.

Angels did not sleep; but Cas had lain down sometime in the night and... yep, he was definitely snoring – quiet purring sounds in his throat rather than great blasts through his nose like what Sam had learned to sleep through over years of sharing motel rooms with his father and Dean, but snores betraying the angel's unconscious status nonetheless.

Sam got up as carefully as he could so as not to jostle Cas. Perhaps his stolen Grace still left him close enough to human that he needed to sleep? Sam frowned at the slumbering angel, wondering if he could possibly find anything in the lore to help him figure it out. That would have to happen later; for now, he pulled the comforter up from his side of the bed and draped it over Castiel's sleeping form, tucking the edges down around the angel's legs and hands he'd clasped in front of him in sleep. Cas's eyelids fluttered and his brow furrowed just a tick as Sam worked; he was actually _dreaming_.

A different sort of warmth, equally pleasant through a lot more tingly, spread out of Sam's chest through his limbs. Deep affection for Cas, like when he'd impulsively hugged the angel the previous day, welled up inside, and he became thoroughly aware of his heart pounding.

_Nothing is worth losing you._

...Coffee. Sam needed coffee. (Probably Irish.)

–

Dean stretched and pushed himself upright, scritching a hand over his scalp to wake himself up. The last vestiges of a dream teased at the periphery of his mind and he squeezed the bridge of his nose trying to recover it. He was certain the dream was nice in some capacity... But he lost it.

He cricked his neck and back in turn, then stumbled into his bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The faintest hint of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the cracks around his bedroom door when he came out; Sam's doing. Early-bird freak...

Dean looked down at the angry red Mark on his forearm. Not unlike the handprint-shaped wheal left by Cas in color and texture; but the Mark, he could  _feel,_ on an internal plane... He flexed his fingers, his forearm, feeling the shift in muscles under the Mark. Everything felt the same on first examination, but at the same time, the tension felt alien to him. Like the electric pulses had a different voltage, like it wasn't  _his_ arm anymore.

Dean ripped his focus away from it. Whatever. He would annihilate Abbadon and Crowley, and deal with the rest later.

Pulling on jeans and a black T-shirt, Dean twisted open his door and strode down the hall in stocking feet. The java smelt stronger out here. No hint of anything else cooking, however. Maybe Sammy was trying that fasted cardio thing or whatever for his morning run.

Said little brother's bedroom door hung slightly open, Dean observed as he approached it on his way to the kitchen. A stray impulse to mess with something in Sam's room tugged in the back of his mind, like he used to mess with him all the time when they were kids...

In light of, well,  _everything_ ... No. But he longingly peered in the crack on his way past anyway, and then he double-took.

Wrapped in a comforter with care though he was and thus obscured, that was definitely _Cas_ sleeping soundly in Sam's bed. Dean squinted his eyes quizzically, lips pouting slightly in thought. He didn't see the angel at all last night; though Cas didn't need to sleep as humans did anymore, he had claimed a room in the bunker at Dean's insistence. If the guy was going to hang around, it was only fair that he have his own space. As far as he knew, though, when Cas retired there for the night he just sat and waited for the sun to rise.

So what had brought the angel to zonk out in _Sammy's_ bed? And apparently right next to him, too, if the unoccupied but rumpled near side of the top sheet and pillow was anything to go by.

Dean couldn't decide if he cared to know the truth. But Sammy would definitely hear all about it from _him_.

–

Wakefulness came slowly to Cas, on little cat feet. Or was that supposed to be fog? Human expressions were so confusing, and never the same across languages.

He reflected that destroying the Tower of Babel wasn't one of his Father's most useful decisions.

Putting the metaphors and blasphemy aside, Cas rolled onto his back, the blanket falling away. Sam had left some time ago. The bed next to Cas was cooled, though Sam's scent lingered – gunpowder, tree bark, the Men of Letters archive, and a bit of lemongrass from his shampoo. Cas of course could detect a myriad of other particulates – salt ions, ash, last night's beer that had sweat out of his pores in his sleep – but the first four lay thickest in the bedclothes, spoke most reassuringly of Sam.

(Dean, usually, gave off waves of leather, whiskey, and hot iron. He too had salt and ash; also traces of motor oil, and, inexplicably, always an undercurrent of warm apple and cinnamon no matter how long since his last slice of pie.)

Realizing Sam must have gone out, Cas sat up. His feet tangled in the blanket and he stumbled on his way from the bed. While he avoided tripping, he still fell into the wall with an unnecessarily loud  _bang_ . Huffing in frustration, Cas disengaged his limbs from the comforter, finding his footing at last.

He found Sam in the main archive, a half-empty mug of gently steaming coffee at his wrist. He squinted at something on his laptop screen. Safe, then. Doing as Sam Winchester does. Castiel relaxed minutely.

Dean sat across from his brother, working on a plate of eggs and bacon. A smaller plate with residual droplets of butter had been pushed away from in front of Sam.

They both looked up when Cas fully entered the room. Dean snorted and hid his grin behind a sip of coffee. Sam's eyebrows knit together for an instant before understanding dawned and his expression grew neutral again.

"Nice look, Cas. Very Obi-Wan."

Cas didn't understand the reference, but Dean clearly meant something about the blanket draped around his shoulders and held closed in front of him in a manner like a monk's robes.

"The bunker is cold this morning," he explained, squinting his eyes and tilting his head as it occurred to him that neither Sam nor Dean appeared bothered by the chill.

"Cas, you sure you're feeling okay?" Sam asked, forehead crinkling in worry. True, angels were not supposed to tire, or take a chill, and yet Cas had done both in the past twenty-four hours. He had little to offer by way of explanation, but he tried.

"Perhaps," he ventured, "extracting Gadreel's leftover Grace, and healing you," he hesitated at something that flashed in both the Winchesters' eyes – dark in Sam's, fiery in Dean's. "Maybe it took more out of me than I thought." His shoulders slumped, regretting his weakness. If he only had his own Grace, if only he was at full power... "I think I need to rest longer, with you, before I resume my mission," he confessed.

"Whatever you need, Cas," Dean said after a stretched silence. He looked over his shoulder at Sam, checking his younger brother's reaction. Sam nodded without hesitation, never looking away from the angel.

"Yeah, Cas. What's ours is yours."

The angel gave a short grateful nod before he turned on the spot and traced his steps back to the dormitory hall. He did not catch the way Dean's eyes flicked between him and Sam; even if he had, he would have thought nothing of it.

–

Sam did notice Dean's surreptitious glances, and when he legitimately caught one and frowned, his brother shrugged and turned away nonchalantly. For all the world, Sam may have just caught his eyes wandering. If Dean's eyes made a habit of wandering between two very specific things, or rather, people.

"Something on your mind, Dean?" Sam challenged when Cas had left the room. Dean grunted, any traces of humor he carried in those glances abruptly gone. Sam's frown deepened in his annoyance. "You keep giving me funny looks."

"Your hair, Sam. Seriously. Give me five minutes with a razor." His wry laughter died at Sam's scowl – what Dean often dismissed as Sam's "bitch face." Sam only used it because it worked more often than not for all Dean belittled it. "I saw Cas asleep in your bed, man." Dean relented, voice light but lowered, as he turned to fully face Sam. "Did he _stay the night_ with you?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Dude," Sam interjected, pushing away from the table and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It is not even _close_ to what you're thinking it is."

"Did you use protection?"

"Stop!" Sam yelped, leaning away as he drove his palms further in until he saw spots. "Oh, I am never going to get that out of my head, thanks a lot."

Dean, Cheshire Cat smile firmly planted, would not be silenced until he got it all out. "I never would have thought you had a wing kink, Sammy." He paused to watch his little brother's complexion shift from golden to beet red. Bobbing his head side to side like was weighing his thoughts about the matter, Dean hedged, "I'm not sure I dig you screwin' my best friend – things could get awkward if it goes south – but I suppose he's got more staying power than your other love interests, overall."

"Oh God, you are incorrigible," Sam groaned, fingers in his hair as he ducked his head toward the table, elbows resting on his knees. He could feel Dean's teasing grin on him, and it did nothing to alleviate the indignation coiling under Sam's heart or quell the fire racing up his neck. If anything, that only made it worse.

"It was nothing like that," Sam protested, knowing full well it would help nothing to try to explain himself, that Dean had merely found himself a reason to yank on Sam's leg for all he could get. "He just wanted to keep an eye on me. I didn't know he was going to crash on the bed at any point."

"He must not know about memory foam yet, or I don't see why he would, either," Dean quipped, rising with his empty plate in hand. Sam jerked upright spluttering to defend his _mattress choice_ of all things, but Dean had already laughed his way back to the kitchen. Face burning, Sam slammed his laptop shut and retreated to his room with it under his arm. He would do research, but he didn't need to do it with his older brother smirking at the back of his head.

The mattress wasn't _that_ uncomfortable. It suited _him_ just fine. _Although..._ He pressed the splayed fingers of one hand into it. Not a lot of give, if he had to be honest. Cas might have preferred something softer, although he did end up falling asleep on the comforter (now returned neatly folded at the foot of the mattress), which had some sort of plushness to it.

Sam shook his head at himself, and rifled his fingers through his hair. What was he even thinking about? That was a one-time deal. Cas knew Sam was alright now; he would be back in his own room from now on.

If Sam felt a pang of loss at this thought, he denied it thereafter.

–

Humans had poor tolerance for environmental conditions compared to angels. Castiel remembered the cold most, the shivering and his toes like ice at night.

So when he realized the tip of his nose felt numb and he'd lost dexterity in his fingers, Cas knew that the chill inherent to the bunker had overpowered him. Not a good thing.

It was late at night. He needed... Cas needed heat. More than his vessel could provide on its own. He rolled up to sitting, blinking at the darkness and sparseness of his room. He knew where to go.

A quick silent shuffle down the hallway brought him to Sam's door, in a strange echo of the previous night. Why Sam _at all_ , Cas was unsure of right now. But Sam had not rejected his presence last night, and hadn't forced him to leave in the morning. Something in what he had learned during his time as a human told him that was a good precedent to act upon.

Unlike last night, though, the lamplight was off – no dusty golden glow in the crack underneath the fully-closed door. Humans did not like to be disturbed as they slept; Cas would just have to be quiet. Twisting the knob slowly and securely so it wouldn't rattle, Cas pressed the door open and waded into the dark room.

Sam was asleep on his stomach again, one foot dangling past the edge of the mattress under the sheets, his long dark hair fanning up his pillow, his face turned in the direction of the door – and Cas. Five o'clock stubble added to the shadows of his features, making them appear even sharper in the low light. His breath hitched – Cas stilled; had he woken Sam though he'd made no noise? Did the light stir him? But then the younger Winchester's breathing evened out again and the tension eased in Cas's shoulders.

_Should_ he wake Sam? At least ask if it was okay for him to be here?

The man looked more at peace in sleep than Cas had ever known him in waking hours, and he had been through much recently (to phrase it too mildly). He needed, and deserved, all the rest and peace he could find in these trying times.

Cas stepped further in, closing the door behind him softly and plunging the room into total darkness, save for the electric red digits on Sam's alarm clock. By that light, he could still trace the contours of Sam's nose, cheekbone, forehead. The red shot him back to flashes of Hell; of retrieving Sam's battered body from the Cage. (But not his soul as well; never forget that Sam's already crushed soul had been left behind to endure a hundred years at the whim of Lucifer and Michael both. If Cas slept, he had nightmares.) He turned the clock face down, still just able to pick out the edge of the mattress. He sank down onto it, watching the rise of Sam's shoulders for any wakeful movement. So far, so good. Cas started to lower himself onto his side. There came a sudden rustle of bedclothes and Cas's face slammed into a mouthful of pillow.

"Who's there?" Sam slurred gruffly, only half-awake. The stunned angel then recognized the heavy weight on the nape of his neck as Sam's large hand, his muscled forearm pinning his back.

"It's me, Sam," Cas's voice came muffled around the pillow stuffing, but at least Sam let him go. He slid his knees onto the floor, twisting like a cat landing on its feet so he faced toward Sam, elbows resting on the mattress. A rustling and creaking as Sam shifted on the bed, and then a grating  _click_ as Sam pulled the stiff lamp chain, and they were illuminated with a pool of soft incandescent light. When Cas pushed himself up, Sam was on his side, facing him, hair spilling into his face before he smoothed it back.

"Geez, Cas, I'm sorry. But what the hell, man?"

Resting his chin on folded hands like a child saying the Lord's Prayer, Cas groped for an explanation. "I see I should have woken you after all."

"Yeah, probably," Sam scoffed, looking a touch annoyed. He scrubbed a hand down his face, carded it through his hair again to wake himself up. "What'd you want?"

Cas blinked, lifting and craning his head up. "It's not obvious?" He rose to sit on the edge of the mattress as he had the previous night.

It took Sam a moment for his sleep-fogged brain to catch up. When it did, his eyes lit undeniably in understanding. "Are you saying you want... to stay here? Again?"

The red blooming on Sam's face was such a fascinating shade – not at all traumatic like the color of Hell – that Cas forgot to respond for a moment. Sam was embarrassed? Why should he be embarrassed? Didn't humans share beds all the time?

"Cas!" Sam hissed, growing defensive despite himself under the angel's intense stare. Blinking again, Cas straightened, resting back on his feet.

"Sorry, what?"

The color of Sam's face deepened. "Why are you here, Cas? Is... Is it the same thing as last night? Cos you gotta know by now I'm okay, right?"

"Yes. You seem well," Cas said, relief apparent in his voice. "Tonight is different. Sort of. I... feel cold. And I remembered that last night, I was pleasantly warm in here. With you."

After another agitated ruffling of his hair, Sam found a reply, "So, you're just wanting a warm place. To sleep?"

How slow even the most intelligent humans could be at three in the morning! In the past, Cas always found it frustrating. Even more so while he was human himself, and living it. But on Sam, at this moment, he found it positively endearing.

"Is that okay?" he asked, mirroring his inquiries from the previous night.

Visibly relaxing, Sam nearly half-laughed, and he nodded. "Sure, Cas," he said on a breath, already reaching for the lamp chain. "That's fine with me."

Taking the cue, Castiel settled on his side, facing away from Sam. But the light didn't go off; instead, a finger prodded Cas's back, between his shoulder blades. Craning his neck around, Cas spotted an amused light in Sam's still-sleepy eyes. "Yes?"

"You can sleep under the blanket, it's fine. Might be a lot warmer, too."

Cas rose, shed his trenchcoat and folded it over the back of Sam's desk chair, and then slipped under the comforter into the same position. The flatsheet remained between them – Cas could feel it pulling underneath him as Sam shifted again to turn off the lamp. A  _click_ later, the room fell into black, and Sam apparently landed belly-down again if the heavy flopping sound and rocking of the bed indicated anything. Gradually the human's body heat radiated through the bedclothes to tentatively reach for Castiel, and he found it very soothing. His eyelids drooped, but his toes stayed cold. He scrunched his knees toward his chest and buried his face in the covers fisted around his hands. Maybe he shivered a couple of times... In fact, he must have, so much it disturbed Sam; with an encouraging sound in his throat the man threw a strong arm over Cas's quivering shoulders and coaxed the angel further onto the bed, closer, until his back pressed against Sam's side.

"Sam—"

"Shh. Go to sleep, now," Sam murmured, past caring about boundaries, his breath ghosting through the hair at the back of Cas's head. Sam's arm left his shoulder, dropping to the pillow between them. The very tangible heat from Sam's body enveloped Cas more securely now, and in no time the angel, indeed, drifted into sleep.

–

The bed was very warm. Pleasantly so. Sam's approval of this observation rumbled up through his throat as he floated toward wakefulness, and he shifted instinctively toward the source of this comfortable heat. His face burrowed into something that tickled his skin and he snuffled, jerking away in surprise as his eyes snapped open.

He was presented with the back of Castiel's head, the black hair no more (or less) mussed than when he'd laid down, so far as Sam could tell. By all accounts the angel hadn't moved a millimeter in the night.

But Sam had, and he flushed to realize it.

His arm had thrown itself over Cas's shoulder again – that wasn't so bad. But somewhere in his nighttime tossing he'd wound a leg around Cas's knees. Result: Sam was so cozily warm because he'd spooned himself against Castiel's back, chin almost tucking over the crown of the angel's head.

No wonder.

He froze stiff, heart hammering. This was... awkward. Not embarrassing – Sam checked that the door was closed – just awkward. Sam had no reason to think Cas was awake, though he had doubts his heartbeat in Cas's shoulder blades wasn't causing earthquakes in the angel's dreams – how could he extract himself without rousing Cas, so he might go blush over the whole situation in peace?

Sam glanced down their bodies, not that he could see anything under the comforter. The flat sheet between them prevented much leg tangling, so that was a blessing. Still; Sam was a big guy, the bed frame squeaked when a fly landed on it, and for all his grace of movement acquired from a lifetime of training, stealth did not come easily in rising from horizontal.

Licking his lips nervously, Sam braced his lying arm to move – and then Castiel spoke into the dead silence.

"I wondered when you would wake up."

Sam jolted away, unintentionally turning Cas with him. The angel, looking rested and entirely unperturbed, regarded Sam with faintly amused cobalt eyes. "How long have you been awake?" Sam blurted, feeling the color rise in his cheeks.

"Thirty-eight minutes," Cas replied without missing a beat. Sam lifted his arm and leg away from the angel's body so he now only had entanglement in the sheets themselves to contend with.

"And, what, you just stayed like that the whole time?"

Cas's shrug was almost lost under the blanket. "I was comfortable. It gave me time to think."

Something in Sam's chest eased loose at that; something like relief dripped into his jumbled thoughts, straightening a couple of them out so he could consider them properly, line them up in order. If Cas had to be trapped under Sasquatch limbs, at least he apparently bore Sam no ill will about it. In fact, the angel didn't seem to have minded for a second; he continued gazing at him, softly smiling in what Sam recognized now as affection. From _Cas_.

He flushed anew.  _Nothing is worth losing you._ He would never get over that, how many  _ways_ Castiel had meant that.

"Besides," Cas continued, smile now practically  _teasing,_ "You didn't seem willing to let me go, even if I did want to leave."

"You didn't even  _want_ to leave?" Sam faltered, propping himself up onto his elbow. "Cas, why did you come back last night, really?" He felt himself paling as he said it, realizing he probably wouldn't know what to do with Cas's answer – well-meaning, bluntly honest Cas.

The happy light in the angel's eyes dimmed and his light smile faded. Cas shifted on his back, wrestling his arms up to fold over his chest on top of the blanket. He didn't look at Sam for a moment, instead studying his fingers. "I told you the truth last night. I did feel cold. But, also," and his aged blue eyes met such young and bewildered hazel, "I wanted to be close to you. To know you were near. It goes beyond just keeping you safe, protecting you. I... I'm not sure how to explain it." His gaze ducked away again. Sam could only watch him steadily, try to keep his swirling thoughts at bay. Cas did not often open up to him; he wanted to memorize the angel's every word, everything he had to say right now. "You are my friend, Sam. I have called you my friend for years now. However, I feel recently that it has gone beyond that, at least for me."

And Sam stilled, struck dumb. Castiel noticed; his eyes darkened mournfully. "I don't know what to call it. I would like to call it a profound bond, like I have with Dean, but it is not the _same._ It's," he roved his eyes over the ceiling, mouth in a tight lipless line as he struggled to find the right words. Sam couldn't offer anything, his mind running in too many directions at once. The ponderous silence stretched. Sam's heart pounded again, kicking into overdrive when Cas's gaze lit up to him and he opened his mouth at last to speak again.

"I suppose now it is even similar to the bond _you_ share with Dean."

The breath Sam had been holding rushed out on a quiet, relieved laugh. Indulgently he clapped his hand on Castiel's shoulder to alleviate the angel's bafflement and concern that he had said the wrong thing. "Dean and I have not exactly been all that close lately, Cas," Sam demurred, more from embarrassment than to deny his own truth: his feelings about the angel had deepened, as well.

But this was lost on Cas. "I have seen your struggles and conflicts. I have also seen your hearts underneath it all. And there is always love underneath; always strong, always guiding your actions. When the threat is real, you put your anger aside and stand for each other, never resting until the other is okay. You will risk everything,  _give_ everything. I think the saying is, where there is a will, there is a way? Winchesters always  _will_ find a  _way_ ." He paused. "I have found myself doing the same, for you."

"That doesn't really explain," (Sam gestured at the small expanse of bed between them,) " _this_ . Maybe Dean and I did this at one time, but not since we were kids and actually small enough to share a twin-size motel bed..."

For a moment Cas seemed lost for words. Then he admitted, "I remembered the night before. How much I liked it." Blue eyes locked on hazel again, solid and unwavering, unambivalent. "I liked being next to you, Sam. I like _you_. I suppose I just don't understand human nature enough to see why I should be self-conscious about it." He rolled up to a sitting position, disentangling his legs from the blanket.

Sam caught himself gaping and shut his mouth with a  _click_ of teeth. Had Cas just tried to confess love, or had he merely told Sam he considered them brothers (young brothers with no understanding or regard for implications of bed-sharing, perhaps) in his own, very roundabout way?

"Wait," he said on impulse as he realized Cas was leaving, reaching to grasp the angel's shoulder. He didn't get any longer to think about it, much less explain himself, before a distant "Sammy!" echoed down the hall, clearly belonging to Dean coming with a case.

Both human and angel snapped their attention to the door. Cas rose, Sam's fingers trailing down his back, and moved to retrieve his coat.

"Wait, Cas!" Sam hissed. The angel in question had his trenchcoat over one arm, ready to swing over his shoulders.

"Yes, Sam?"

A devious light glinted in Sam's eyes, he could feel it, as a grin spread across his face. "Wanna mess with Dean?"

The angel gave his patented confused expression, pursing his lips and tilting his head inquisitively. "Mess with— how?"

Sam was already up, taking the trenchcoat from him and dropping it into a haphazard heap on the floor. "Shirt off. Under the covers. Now"

Perplexed, Cas nonetheless did as told. Sam detained him for a moment to rifle his fingers through the angel's hair until it was messier than ever, then he pressed him to get back in bed. He gave his own mop of sleep-tousled hair the same treatment, and turned his shirt backwards. Cas caught his eye and understanding dawned on him, his eyes glinting with mischief. He turned and pulled a bit at the sheets, making the bed look a whole lot more than merely slept in. "Pretend you're asleep," Sam whispered unnecessarily when the pounding came at the door.

A grin cracked the angel's face before he turned away from the door and relaxed onto the mattress, one arm thrown on top of the blanket to leave no doubts of his nakedness. Sam allowed himself an answering Cheshire Cat grin before rearranging his face into the harried expression of one rudely roused from a pleasant dream, and he irritably cracked the door.

"What?" he groused in a low voice, tugging his shirt into place. He itched at the label out on the front of his neck.

Dean hesitated, momentarily thrown by the label. Then he recovered enough to say, "Call in from Ray, in Michigan. Says he caught wind of a striga in Oklahoma. You up for it?"

"Yeah," Sam cleared his throat self-consciously, "Yeah, just, uh," his eyes involuntarily flicked toward the room behind him, "Just give me a few minutes. He ran a hand through his hair a time or two, attempting to fix it.

"Seen Cas?" Dean interjected. Sam choked, just barely able to stop from looking back into the room; his face grew hot.

Suspicion flashed across Dean's features and he barged forward to look at what had his brother so nervous, catching him off-guard enough that Sam just stumbled aside. Then it was his turn to cough over his own saliva.

Almost in the middle of Sam's bed, Cas lay sprawled on his belly, bare arm curled around a pillow and blanket drifting toward his low back.

"Uh..." Sam offered, any and all words dying in his throat. Dean looked at him in utter shock and he grinned meekly for the shortest half-second.

"What the  _hell_ ?" Dean monotoned, "You said--" His eyes widened even further as it really dawned on him. " _Did_ you?!"

Two seconds of moose in the headlights. "No! No, of course not, it... I... He just..." Though  _nothing_ had happened, Sam found himself every bit as flustered as if he actually had been caught in the act (or the aftermath, as it were) – that in itself was incriminating enough to make his embarrassment real. Hopefully, real enough for Dean.

" _Seriously?_ " At least Dean kept his voice down, trying to splutter his way to the next cluster of intelligible words. " _What the hell?!_ "

"Dude, chill out, it's fine, you said--"

"It—"

"We'll talk about it  _later,_ okay? When—" he jerked his head toward Cas's sleeping form, gaze meaningful.  _When Cas isn't around_ . Sam cleared his throat again, trying to force them back to business. "Striga in Oklahoma?"

As derailed as the topic, Dean worked his train of thought back to the case at hand. "Yeah. Yeah, epidemic of 'an unusual wasting illness' – seriously, who says 'wasting illness' anymore? – in some Tulsa kids. Started last week. Grab your crap and meet me in the garage in fifteen." He started to go and then paused, looking out the corner of his eye at Cas, who hadn't stirred during the whole exchange. Voice noticeably gruffer, he added, "Wake Sleeping Beauty there and see if he wants to go, if you get a chance." He abruptly started down the hall again. "No time for a morning top-off, Sammy!" he barked without turning his head.

Burning neck to scalp, Sam closed the door and leaned back against it, sighing. Had his plan just backfired, if Dean could find it in him to make a joke at the end of it all?

A rustle of bedclothes and creaking mattress, and Cas was propped on his elbows, blinking owlishly at Sam. "That was a prank." Sam nodded tersely. The angel nodded to himself as understanding came to him – brothers pranked each other, and the Winchester prank wars were notorious. "Do you think it worked?"

Shrugging, Sam walked to his dresser, tugging off the shirt he'd slept in. "I'm not sure. Maybe. He definitely didn't know what to say for a few seconds." He pulled on a white T-shirt and a black plaid flannel.

Rising from the bed, Cas reached for the sweater he'd discarded minutes ago. "I think you should have tried not to let him in. Humans are usually very self-conscious and even ashamed about revealing they have someone else in their bed. Especially someone of the same sex. I've never understood it, though." He was so clinical Sam took a moment to realize what the angel had just implied.

"How do you _know_ that?" he blurted instead, ducking his head while he pulled on his jeans, letting his hair shield his red face.

"I have told you. I am not self-conscious the way humans are. And that goes for a lot of ways." He paused, lip quirking as if something amused him. "I do, however, tend to notice when everyone else is embarrassed but me."

"Right." Sam pulled out his duffel bag and dumped into it his laptop, a notebook and pen, extra clothes.

"Sam," Cas said bluntly, imploring. Sam halted, snapping his attention to Cas. The angel contemplated the wall. "You... are not ashamed of me. After everything I've done."

Stunned, only Cas's nervous bow of his head indicated to Sam he needed to affirm the angel's words even though he had not said them as a question. "Of course not, Cas. I... You've done more to help us than anyone we've ever known." _You're my best friend._

Cas nodded, a faint smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "I am glad to hear you say that. Sam," he began again with an air of sudden inspiration, turning to face the younger Winchester, "I think I know how to, as you might say, 'sell it' to Dean."

"How?" Sam reflexively asked, hefting his duffel bag strap onto one shoulder. Stepping forward around the foot of the bed, Castiel reached for Sam's free hand. "Follow my lead."

–

Dean double-checked the supplies in the Impala's trunk before closing the hatch. He checked his watch, as well. They were taking too long.

"What geeks," he said reflexively, scrubbing his hand down his face and leaning back against the trunk. His little brother was a good-enough actor for most people when he needed to be on cases, but Dean knew all of Sam's tells. A valiant effort to screw with his mind, sure, but Sam didn't stick the landing.

For a wild moment, though, he  _had_ been fooled... He scoffed to himself, actually a little impressed.

Dean hadn't cared to decide what he would think or do if his little brother and his best friend hooked up – he'd never considered it a possibility, for whatever reason. He'd stopped teasing Sammy about being a girl, being gay, years ago; and after the Cage, Hallucifer, and the Trials, it just didn't feel right anymore. That sort of teasing was a staple of their boyhood, and they hadn't been  _boys_ in a long time. Nowadays, only the occasional jab about Sam's hair had feet to stand on. Sometimes Dean missed the old days – of prank wars on the road, and playing along when people thought they were a couple – just to get Sammy riled up and flustered out of his serious and usually unflappable college-boy persona.

Clearly, Sam had lost his touch. Like he and Cas would  _actually_ \--

Voices echoed tinnily into the garage. Dean straightened. They were too far away for him to understand what they said, but they abruptly quieted when they came into view and saw him looking right at them. Specifically, at the spot where their fingers interlaced.

Dean blanched.

Sam's arm jerked to break the connection, color rising in his cheeks. Cas held firm, no indication given that he thought anything was amiss aside from a bemused glance at Sam's mortification. After a few more fruitless tugs, Sam gave up, and he stared at Dean with the most peculiar expression – nervous but comfortable, challenging but seeking forgiveness all the same.

After a tense silence, Dean coughed, tripped over his words. "So, uh, you kids ready to go, or something?"

At last breaking his hold on Sam's hand, Cas strode forward. "Sam told me the gist of it. What can I do to help?"

Sam moved to dump his stuff into the trunk of the Impala. "The last time we took down a striga, we used a kid as bait." The brothers grimaced as one – not their finest moment, even if it did work. "I'd rather we didn't have to resort to that again. Think you could track it?"

Cas considered. "I will try." He opened the door to the back seat, standing aside. Sam started to take the invitation, until Dean thrust a palm against his chest.

"Ohhh, no you don't. Shotgun, kiddo. Where I can make sure you're behaving yourself." Despite everything he had seen, there was still a hint of smugness in Dean's countenance, like he knew exactly what they were doing and did not believe their act for one second. This was him nipping the whole thing in the bud, right now.

Defeated, Sam looked hopelessly at Cas, opening his palms in supplication. Cas shrugged, out of ideas, apparently. Sam nodded at Dean, face acquiescent, and said older brother returned the nod sharply before walking around to the driver's side door. Sam followed suit around the other side.

"Sam," Cas said as he passed the angel; Sam halted, turning toward him as Dean did the same in a natural reaction from the edge of his vision.

Without warning Castiel's hand fisted his shirt collar and pulled him down, connecting their lips for the longest and shortest second of Sam's life.

Forget choking or coughing; Dean outright squawked like a mortified parrot.

Fire bloomed over Sam's face and spread rapidly – he felt he must be blushing over his entire body. Cas's lips were cool but pliant, parting just slightly around Sam's to make it look real, before he gently pushed Sam back to break it. Just inches away, Sam gaped at him, wide-eyed.

A strange triumph glowed in Castiel's eyes that Sam couldn't find the mental capacity to interpret right now with his ears buzzing so loud. The angel  _smirked_ , just for him to see, and pressed back again. "We should get going now," he prompted in a low voice, tucking a stray hair behind Sam's ear. With a jerky nod, Sam straightened, head whirling with a million fragments of thought that basically summed up to  _What the hell just happened?!_

"Sam!" Dean yelped,"Car! Now!" He sounded barely able to contain his incredulity, no more than he could utter polysyllabic words. And he wouldn't look at either of them as he finally swung into the driver's seat, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Cas grinned up at Sam, elated and looking more innocent than he had any right to. "I think that went well. Shall we?" He slid into the back seat, straightening his face before he did so. Still flabbergasted at what the angel had just done (and how actually  _okay_ he felt about it now that he was over the initial shock, but he'd think about that later), Sam cleared his throat to recenter himself and mirrored Dean's actions into the passenger seat.

Without a word – still rather bug-eyed, in fact – Dean flipped to a loud classic rock station and pulled the Impala out of the garage. He could not look at either of them or even say a word for the first hundred miles.

The first chance Sam and Cas had to catch each other's eye without Dean around to witness them, they instantly collapsed into helpless laughter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's weird to read this over a year and a half later, cos back when I wrote this I was still pretty closeted even to myself, and not fully comfortable with non-cishet identities. It definitely was a far cry from "normalized" for me (yayyyyyyyyy being raised by +++conservative parents), and I can see that reflected a bit here.
> 
> And now I'm just like hey, hi, yes, give me ALL the LGBTQ+ representation.
> 
> I would NOT have posted this even as recently as this past summer.
> 
> Guys, I owe a whole damn lot to "Yuri!!! on ICE;" and so do you, if you enjoyed this. ;)
> 
> ...'kay, now go read my "Yuri!!! on ICE" fic that I churned out and uploaded earlier this week [so you can see how far this self-proclaimed mighty has fallen OTL]. /shameless self-promotion
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you stop by again! :D


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